Easter Sinday
by kimmiesjoy
Summary: She's always been a fan. Of the taste. Of the feel. The smell. The sinful intoxication that comes with each mouthful that bathes her tongue. Only it's not her tongue being bathed right now... Happy Easter.


**A/N:** I blame JessieLou for enabling my madness ;)

* * *

She's always been a fan.

Of the taste. Of the feel. The smell. The sinful intoxication that comes with each mouthful that bathes her tongue. Only it's not _her _tongue being bathed right now, it's her body and the only _tongue_ in the mix is licking a sinful, slow path up, and up, and up.

The ruffle of fur catches her ankles and she groans a giggle that she knows he reciprocates, pressing his smiling teeth into her calf to hide it. She knows all the same, hears it, _feels_ it, watching the ears on top of his head bob as his body shakes.

She chuckles dirtily and he's distracted, taken in by the sound of her laughter. The way her skin glows, the way her breasts _bounce_.

She exaggerates it, curls her back and arches her spine. His eyes drop, linger hungrily on her chest and she strikes.

Castle flinches when her foot slides against him, toes a curling, dexterous tease he's not prepared for. She feels him harden beneath her, the firm weight and springy rigidity sliding over the ball of her foot, drawing out sounds that make her blood begin to boil.

Kate smirks. Flushed pink, she reminds him two can play at this game, even if one of them is cuffed to the bed and covered in chocolate.

Restraint snaps and his grip tightens.

His hands land either side of her head and Castle nudges at her nose with his own, inhales against her jaw until she twists up and opens her mouth. She nips at the air between them, knowing it drives him crazy, that small reminder of their first time together, of how desperate she was for him, how determined yet unsure, making Castle take her kiss with unfettered fervor.

His fingers delve into her hair and tug. Nails sharp as they ripple over her ribs.

She moans into it when he flicks his tongue against the roof of her mouth, strokes hard and deep and makes her skin erupt in goosebumps. They scatter over her flesh like the phantom wings of his touch. A preemptive strike that leaves Kate tip-toeing a dangerous line.

A flutter of anticipation races through her. Certainty like lava in her blood. Hot. Primal.

He's going to make her come, _hard_ and fast, then long and _slow_ and his whispered plans have her hips dancing eagerly within seconds. He's never gotten her off with just his voice before, at least not in person, and she's about to suggest they try it when the weight of him settles low and pushes her hips down into the bed.

She's trapped as he makes his intentions clear. Her teeth sink into her lip, toes curling against the crisp, white sheets.

Rolling against her, Castle presses kisses to her throat, bites the thudding pulse in her neck and sucks along the line of her collarbone. He marks, mumbling loving possessions to each indentation he leaves behind. Her skin darkens with every kiss, blood singing as it rushes up to meet his mouth, shivering below the rough drag of his tongue every time Castle tastes the syrup that paints her body.

He hums and the vibrations scatter her senses, heart a drum beat only he can hear, his rhythmic sucking easily keeping time.

Her eyes roll when his fingers slide between them, spread her thighs, stroke apart her lips. He hums his approval and she burns hotly beneath his touch.

But he's not _touching_ enough of her. Not fast enough. He hovers somewhere between graze and tease and keeps her surging for more, tethered yet flying.

Too much and not enough.

Kate grips the headboard and thrusts her chest up for his attention. Wanton. Uncaring. Delighted when he takes up her invitation with pleasure and gratitude, sucking the swollen nubs of her nipples straight into his mouth. He scrapes his teeth across each peak, holds her against the roof 0f his mouth, his tongue darting back and forth, nipping to hold her in place as he circles and licks.

Her skin is nearly bare of chocolate by the time he's done with her, only dark smears mar his chest and if he would just _remove her cuffs_ she'd gladly return the favour.

He scoffs at the suggestion, reminds her the chocolate dripped _all_ the way down and he really should set about cleaning it up.

His fingers prove his point, the argument dying on her tongue when he dips into her belly button, swallowing up the molten pool that gathers there. He draws patterns, hearts and kisses, licks them clean, delighting in his efforts.

The ears tickle her chest, ruffle her nipples, but he drowns out the laugh that threatens to escape her lips with a growl and the hot laving of his tongue, forcing her to replace the gleeful sound with a long, drawn out moan.

He laps at her. Slurps, sucks and slides his tongue inside her navel to collect every last drop until she's tossing and turning and driven mad with the furry tickle.

_No fair_ becomes an unspoken growl as he nips and she loses all hold on her ability to laugh. But god, she wants to.

He's naked, wearing bunny ears and coating her with chocolate and yet all she can do is arch up against the cuffs, hear them clank and strain, and chase his evilly grinning mouth.

The air sweet with sex and chocolate and Kate grits her teeth as he meanders a path of destruction over her skin. Fingers spider walk her thighs, trail her kneecaps and tickle until she squirms.

She wants more. Of him. His touch. His taste. Everything.

His name becomes a threat, one she can't adhere to because it's her name too now. He knows, uses it against her, throws back their shared moniker just as casually as he would utter Beckett or Kate, love or honey and it undoes her _every_ time.

She can't demand or berate when his tongue is tracing patterns and the bottle in his hands is swirling words across her skin for him to lick off.

Mrs or wife and the name they share, all tools he uses to take her apart. No mercy, no downtime in between each pre planned action. And he's wearing bunny ears, tickling her with whiskered stubble, spreading her legs and muttering about going on an _Easter_ _hunt_.

His nose twitches and Castle nibbles his lower lip, it should be ridiculous, be juvenile, but sugar rushes are _catching_ and all she can do is moan and beg, "Castle, don't stop."

He doesn't.

Castle slides lower on the bed, his ass in the air so he can angle his mouth to just the right spot and she's gone again, knees drawing up to soften the shake of her stomach muscles when she spots the little white tuft of fur stuck just above his right cheek.

His eyes flick up and his predatory grin rushes back, his hands on her knees spreading her wide. No mercy. He wiggles his ass and the tail dances, his weight pressing her into the bed as she chuckles and strains against the headboard.

She wants her hands back, just for a moment, to smack that rabbity tuft and watch his eyes darken in delight.

She'd sink her teeth in too, for good measure, make him pay for this.

Ears and a tail, her _husband_ naked between her thighs, her laugh ricochets, booming around the room, ridiculously loud. Like her life now, ridiculously loud, happy, literally _sweet_ as he licks at the chocolate dripping down her chest.

She laughs, lost, no hope of coming back and Kate gives herself up to the joy of it.

Until teeth nip at her stomach, graze her, rasp at skin that quivers instantly and humour becomes this background buzz that lessens _nothing_.

"Hippity."

She gasps as he raspberries, soft, small, enough to make her choke back a snort and attempt to glare.

"Hoppity."

It's useless.

"Good bunnies get the largest carrots."

She wants to laugh, remind him he's the one wearing the ears so the one getting the carrot will be ... but oh, fingers and lips, mouth, more syrup make it impossible.

To say anything.

To think.

He pours half a bottle over her chest, each breast doused, until her nipples spring free like lude cherries, and then he laps it up. His tongue snakes out and curls, mouth sucking and swallowing.

Up, up, up and down, down, down.

Her eyes roll.

Chocolate drips onto the bed and she moans.

It tickles, the slow slide around her ribs mimicking the thick trail of a finger. Invisible hands wrapping around her from all sides.

Her back lifts, hips dance, and when she comes back to the mattress she's resting in a sticky pool of melted confectionery. her body marks the sheets with dirty chocolate angel impressions with every move they make.

The bite of restraint at her wrists does nothing, helps _nothing_. Everything is sensation. The inferno between her legs drives her knees wide, seeking friction, seeking the press and slide and firm invasion of her husband. But his pouring never lets up and the flares of her hips just create a new path for the seeping chocolate.

The slow slip of thick syrup eases down and Kate watches Castle's eyes as he follows it. Muscles tense and fingers white in their grip of her hips, he licks his lips as her own are drenched.

His feral growl makes her mouth run dry.

The bottle thuds to the floor and his weight shifts instantly.

Eyes on her for a split second, Castle steals her breath before his own coasts over her and he blows, quickening the chocolate's descent to where he wants it, eager to begin his hunt.

Slow licks have her clean and aching within seconds, but his tongue snakes out and his fingers hold her open until almost lazily he pushes his tongue inside her and circles it against the roughened ridges that quiver in greeting.

He barely moves as her hips roll and flex, pulling him as deep as she can and sliding him away, his tongue's penetration dependent on each surge and snap.

She's a sticky, writhing mess, at the mercy of a naked Easter bunny. She'd laugh if it didn't feel so fucking _good_.

His thumbs slide up, nudge and slide and begin to work in opposition.

His fingertips drum on her stomach.

His thumbs, hard left, soft right, press and stroke.

Her hips roll and his tongue slides back and forth, both firm and gentle.

Over and over and over again until she's panting and the world is narrowed down to the feel of him breaking her apart.

He lifts one leg over his shoulder, spreads her ass cheeks and flattens his tongue to stroke her walls and Kate comes on a shocked wave of curses and _I love you's_ that has him chuckling deeply inside her.

The vibration of his amusement keeps her flying, clenching and quaking, groaning until she comes back to herself, to him and takes in the mess they've made.

His lips dust featherlight, watching her squirm with the tremors that strike her when he sucks and licks over her hip bones. "Hotel sheets," he reminds her, the grin widening, cocky now, "you married a genius."

She scoffs, eyes dropping between her legs, muscles tightening at the sight even as she glares, "A genius at annoyi- oh."

Not a tease, not a promise for later either. It's fulfillment when he presses his mouth to her, tongue invading deeply again without warning, and his teeth scraping so lightly that she has to push away.

Too much, too soon.

Her heels to the bed, Kate shoves herself back, forgetting his hands are already on her thighs. Forgetting he likes to chase.

Forgetting he's here for the _hunt_.

A soft buzz startles her, brings her out of her bliss induced high with sweet and depraved knowledge.

There's more than one _rabbit_ in the room.

Her eyes roll back in her head when the toy makes contact with her skin, the thick weight of her husband stretching her slowly as he slides inside.

Happy Easter, indeed.


End file.
